


Sinful And Tender Things

by RainyDayDecaf



Category: Slow Show - mia_ugly, Warlock (TV) - Fandom
Genre: First Kiss, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Is this canon compliant?, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic, Major Character Injury, Mild Angst, Season 5 Episode ??, Warlock the TV Show (Slow Show), idk ask the showrunners, mia_ugly's Slow Show Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21995566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyDayDecaf/pseuds/RainyDayDecaf
Summary: They've had moments like this before.  Usually it's William who walks away first.  And Erasmus decided a long time ago that it isn't worth chasing after the priest if nothing will ever come of it.Not unless…A fan interpretation of a possible First Kiss in the aftermath of Season 5 Episode 1.
Relationships: Erasmus/William (Warlock - Slow Show)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 80
Collections: Slow Show Metaverse





	Sinful And Tender Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mia_ugly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia_ugly/gifts).



> So I realize I probably should have asked permission from mia_ugly before writing and posting this. But I saw a few fanworks on AO3 based around the Warlock TV show from their Slow Show AU, and I basically lost higher brain function and blacked out, and when I woke up, this existed. A fanfic of a TV show within an AU of a TV show, what has my life come to?

He manages to get out of bed on the third day. It takes a few tries and a lot of wincing just to sit upright, but once he’s up and moving, Erasmus finds it’s easier to just _keep_ moving, even if his steps are slow and tottering like an old man. He does a practice lap around the upper floor of the inn, one hand on the wall and the other wrapped protectively around his chest. As if his ribcage might split open any moment and spill his insides all over the floor, wouldn’t _that_ be a sight?

Back in his room, he sinks onto the cot and groans. Braces himself and unbuttons his shirt for another peek under the linen bandages. And yes, the marks are still there. Two jagged holes right in the center where the arrowheads had poked through skin not three days ago. His back probably looks the same where the shafts entered and pierced all the way through his body, though he doesn’t have a mirror handy to check. And… Erasmus isn’t sure he _wants_ to see. There are some things no man is meant to behold.

Erasmus leans forward to put his head in his hands and tells himself sternly to _breathe_ and get ahold of himself. Should be easy, he’s done it before. Always the calm one, that’s him. The one with a plan while everyone else is panicking. And Erasmus is surely no stranger to magic. Prophecies and parlour tricks, warding charms and healing tinctures. Small things, ordinary spells that anyone could learn with a bit of studying and access to the ritual components.

But this… raising a man from death and healing a fatal wound that should have left him crippled at the very least… it’s the sort of miracle not seen outside of scripture. He should be dead right now, buried out there among all the other villagers who have fallen in the battle. Erasmus hates himself for admitting it, but it frightens him how close he came. Puts the fear of God in him like nothing and no one else ever has. Not the inquisitors, certainly not his father.

No wonder so many people want the boy dead. It’s almost a relief to know the truth now. To look back on all the strangeness of the past few years—the miraculous escapes and near-misses, the preternatural dreams plaguing them all—and finally understand how those pieces fall into place.

“…I need a drink,” Erasmus mutters and stands up again. The bloody priest has kept him on a strict diet of bread and stew and tepid water, which no reasonable man can be expected to survive on for long. His body will recover better if he gives it what it expects. That’s Erasmus’ reasoning, anyway. Very logical, if you ask him.

He is halfway down the stairs leading to the main floor when he sees William. The priest is the only one in sight. No innkeep behind the bar, no patrons at the tables. Everyone must be busy seeing to the wounded and rebuilding defenses, just in case the inquisitors decide they didn’t get enough the first time.

Erasmus pauses at the bottom of the stairs, ready to make a quip about a man of the cloth drowning his sorrows. But William has no drink before him. Instead there are at least ten candles clustered on the bar, of all shapes and sizes, none of them lit. William sits and stares at these unlit candles. Glowers, even. Face screwed up in irritable concentration, forehead wrinkled in a way that’s sure to give him a headache later. But the expression clears as he turns at the sound of footsteps.

Words fail Erasmus then, throat gone dry in a way no alcohol will be able to sate. And even though it’s been three days and William has hardly left his side in that time, this feels like the first proper moment they've lain eyes on each other after all those months apart.

He had forgotten just how red the priest could blush.

Erasmus spares a glance down at his half-buttoned shirt and makes an effort to cover himself. It was funny the first few times, watching William sputter and bluster about modesty in front of Julia, but that was before he had an inkling of how the priest really felt about him. Before they both started finding excuses to look away when the other disrobed, pretending their hearts didn't stutter with every look, every stray touch. At least for Erasmus, there's been an awful lot of heart stuttering going on.

"You," William says, then pauses to clear his throat, "you shouldn't be up. You need rest."

"I've rested plenty," Erasmus mutters. He shuffles closer, intending to take the stool beside the priest, who immediately rises to grip his elbow and help him into his seat. Erasmus can't decide if he's grateful or insulted to be treated like something precious and breakable. "Where's the boy? And the witch?"

"Safe, resting," Williams tells him with a pointed look. _As you should be too_ , was implied.

Erasmus waves him off and snags a bottle from behind the bar. "Dare I ask what the candles are for? Thought we’d all had enough of fire.”

William turns back to the candles, lips pursed. "It's… well, Julia came up with the idea. I'm trying to light them."

"There's a fireplace two steps to your left," Erasmus says before the meaning fully sinks in. "Oh. Oh, I see. You're trying to do the…" He waggles his fingers. "…the magic thing?"

" _Magic thing_ ," William scoffs under his breath. "That's what he calls it, the _magic thing_. Have you no respect or reverence for anything in this world?"

Erasmus opens his mouth and holds up a finger.

"Never mind, forget I asked."

Erasmus lowers the finger, grinning. "So? Any luck?"

Williams makes a frustrated noise and shoves the candles aside. "Nothing! Not a… not a blasted thing! This power or whatever it is the boy's given me, I can't seem to make it manifest again. I can feel it inside me still, but it won't _do_ anything."

"Huh." Erasmus pops the cork off the bottle, takes a swig and deems the wine acceptable for now. "Maybe it only comes out when you need it."

"But then, why couldn't I heal the other villagers?" William asks, voice breaking just a bit in that way Erasmus hates. "I tried, after you were stable enough to be moved. Everyone had seen what I did for you, and they kept asking me to try, just _try_ and save a few more. But I couldn't…"

He breaks off and buries his face in his folded arms. "And they didn't believe me when I told them I'd never done anything like that before. I would have saved them all, if I could. If I only knew how!"

"Hey, hey," Erasmus murmurs. He rubs William's back and offers the bottle, somewhat shocked when the priest takes it without hesitation and steals a generous gulp. "I believe you. I know you, Will. Nothing you like better than helping people. I'm sure you'll figure this out, it just… it's gonna take some practice. Even the witch never got a spell right on the first go."

"But I've _been_ practicing," William moans into his hands. "Erasmus, what if I can't? What if it wasn't really me who saved you? Maybe Joshua did it, or maybe God intervened, I don't…"

"Come on, I'll help you," Erasmus offers. He takes his hands and tugs William around to face him, a little thrill racing through him when the priest allows it. He vividly remembers a time when William would have flung his hands away in disgust, called him a scoundrel and a liar with no trace of affection behind the insult. Now he grips Erasmus tightly and looks at him with desperate hope, with utter faith in whatever bullshit advice Erasmus is about to pull out of his arse.

"Now. Just try to… I dunno, think back to that moment when you healed me. Try to remember what you were thinking when it happened. What you were…"

He falters, only no realizing how very personal this question is.

"…what were you _feeling_ when you saved me? What was going on in that head of yours? What made the magic respond?"

 _No, NO!_ Williams wails in his memory. _No, please! Not him, don't take him now! Oh Lord, Father in Heaven, please, I only just… Erasmus, look at me! Open your eyes!_

William worries at his bottom lip. He shakes his head slowly, haunted eyes drifting off to the side. "I felt…"

One of the candle wicks catches alight. The flame flares up bright and stretches up nearly five inches tall before shrinking back down to a normal size. It flickers merrily as they both turn to stare.

"That… oh, but I wasn’t ready!" William says, indignant. "I wasn't even trying!"

"Try it again," Erasmus encourages. He hopes William doesn't notice that he's laced their fingers together, relishing the warmth of contact a little too much. "Go on. Try to light another one."

"But I don't know what I _did_."

"You felt something. You _wanted_ something, and the magic gave it to you. That's all it really is, I think."

"But that doesn't make sense!" William insists. "There must be something more to it. You can't just… make a _wish_ and hope that reality bends to fulfill that wish."

"Sure you can. It's called praying."

William glares at him with such ferocity that Erasmus laughs. Getting the priest riled up about religion is still one of his favorite pastimes. "Oi, careful. Don't set _me_ on fire."

William gasps and recoils, as if that's an actual possibility that has never occurred to him before now. He ducks his gaze to their joined hands with a troubled look. "How are you so…?"

"Dashing? Debonair?"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake," William cries, "aren't you afraid?"

"What?" The word is huffed out with another laugh, disbelieving. "Afraid of what? You?"

"Erasmus," William says, like he's speaking to a child who hasn't completed his lessons. "Three days ago, you were on the brink of death. And I changed that somehow, simply by desiring a different outcome. Who's to say what else I might be capable of? I could _hurt_ someone with this magic. I could hurt you, or Julia or the boy…"

Erasmus shrugs with more indifference than he feels. "Or you could run me through with a sword. Or the witch could slit my throat with a bread knife. Or Joshua could find a poisonous mushroom and stick it in my food. But I'm not going to waste my time worrying about those things, am I? Plenty of other things trying to kill me already."

"…don't do that."

"Do what?"

William looks off again. "Don't speak of your own death as if it were such a trivial thing. You've always done that, for as long as I've known you. I don't want… I can't…"

Something is happening here. Erasmus can feel it coming, like the hairs on his arms rising just before a lightning strike. They've had moments like this before. Gazing at one another from across a great chasm, one reaching out as the other shrinks back. Usually it's William who walks away first. And Erasmus decided a long time ago that it isn't worth chasing after the priest if nothing will ever come of it. He can protect William, he can comfort him and laugh with him and save his life on occasion. Can even love him and pine after him like a wistful maiden, if it makes his pathetic heart feel any better. But asking for more is out of the question.

Not unless…

_Don't do it, don't you dare, you know how it will end. He'll leave you, you know he will, once the boy and the witch are finally safe and all this prophecy nonsense is done, you think he'll just pack up and follow you wherever you go? Like he would choose to be with someone who makes him question everything he believes in when he could go back to his nice little church and parish and live a long, happy, celibate life without you…_

All ten candles are burning now. Erasmus is at a loss to explain how that happened. He can't take his eyes off William, who has finally deigned to look up, blue eyes glittering in the firelight. Tracing over the details his face like the priest is memorizing every little blemish and wrinkle. Erasmus, in turn, looks over his friend who has grown far too gaunt in recent months, too jumpy at every shadow. There's a new scar on William's cheek that must have a story behind it. Erasmus wants to kiss that scar, wants to hold him like they did in the days leading up to their separation. But it's been so long, he's not sure what's allowed any longer.

"Come along."

Erasmus blinks. "Where to?"

"Upstairs, to bed," William says, so decisive that it takes them both a moment to realize how _that_ sounds. "To sleep. You need to sleep. You're not well yet."

"You already did the hard part," Erasmus says grumpily. But he goes along, lets William steer him back upstairs and all the way back to his room, a hand keeping contact with his lower back for the entire journey. It's a small price to pay, letting the priest fuss over him like this. How many times, after all, has it been Erasmus looking after William? Urging him to eat and rest, tending to his wounds, leaping in between him and angry inquisitors wielding sharp, pointy objects? It's practically become a thing with them, Erasmus rushing to his rescue against the most improbable odds.

"Lie down," William commands. Erasmus grumbles, but there's no real animosity to it. If he is being brutally honest, he may have pushed himself a little too hard. His chest and back are aching, muscles viciously protesting every little movement. He crawls onto the cot and sprawls out on his side facing the wall and resigns himself to another long day of nursing his hurts and regretting all his life choices.

William fluffs the pillow and adjusts it under his cheek. "There we are. Do you need anything?"

Erasmus gusts out a sigh. "Could've let me bring the wine," he mutters.

William chuckles and scoots his legs over so he can sit on the cot with Erasmus. A moment passes before tentative fingers touch the collar of his shirt. "M… May I? Just to see how they're healing?"

Erasmus closes his eyes. Nods. Tells himself sternly that there is absolutely _nothing_ arousing about the way William's fingers slip beneath the cloth and slide the shirt down his arms, just barely grazing his skin and raising little goosebumps in their wake. He can feel his face flushing and hopes he can blame it on a fever.

A candle on the nearby table spontaneously alights. William makes a little pleased noise. "Oh! It worked!"

Erasmus peeks over his shoulder with a faint smirk. "Not bad. Next you'll be summoning demons and opening up portals to Hell. What _will_ your former brothers think of you?"

"Don’t make light of my inevitable damnation," William says sternly, but his lips give him away, the smile only barely contained. He leans closer and traces along the edges of the wounds on his back. Erasmus hisses and flinches away. "Forgive me."

"Sure, yeah. How's it look?"

"You have more bruises than skin back here," William murmurs in sympathy. "Nothing seems infected, but… oh my dear, it still looks _awful_."

"Yeah, feels kind of awful," Erasmus says nonsensically. He's having a hard time with the breathing thing again. But that happens a lot around William, so it's probably nothing to worry about.

"I wonder…"

The hand on his back splays out flat, and William's other hand comes around to press against his chest. "I don't know if it will work, but… and if you'd rather heal on your own, you're more than welcome… but perhaps, now that I seem to have the knack of it…"

"Go ahead."

William hesitates. "Are you sure? I don't wish to impose or… or make you feel obligated…"

"I said, _go ahead_ ," Erasmus says. He reaches up to grip the hand just below his collarbone and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "Believe me, there's no imposing going on here. If I wanted you to sod off, I'd say it."

"But it's _magic_ ," William frets. Needlessly, in Erasmus' opinion. "And I hardly know what I'm doing…"

"You didn't ask permission before you saved my life."

"Yes, but that was _different_."

"Will." Erasmus rolls over again, just enough to look him in the eye. "I trust you. Like I've never trusted anyone else."

William flushes the deepest red he's ever seen, from the top of his head all the way down his neck, and probably further down under his robes where Erasmus can't see it. He lays his head back down and fixes his eyes on the wall and thinks resolutely of ugly inquisitors and unpleasant torture devices.

There's no warning before William works his magic. No flashes of light, no chanting or speaking in tongues. Nothing to suggest that anything supernatural is taking place in this room. But Erasmus _feels_ it. His spine arches, head flung back as the hands on his chest and back become icy cold. The sensation sinks into his skin, into his core where it rapidly spreads outward. He can't move, all his muscles locked up as this strange power ebbs and flows within him. Pumping though bone and blood, zinging along his nerves, practically _singing_ inside him. He is hyperaware of William at his side, expression still like marble, lips moving as if in silent prayer. The very picture of serenity and unshakeable faith.

Erasmus has sudden reason to be grateful that he was unconscious the first time this happened.

Once the wounds have scabbed over and the bruises are nothing more than a memory, William releases him. Erasmus gasps, only now realizing he held his breath for the entire duration, and now he's panting, sucking in air like a man drowning. The priest immediately seizes him by the shoulders and rolls him onto his back.

"Oh… oh gracious, are you well? Have I hurt you?"

Erasmus shakes his head quickly. "Yeah—no—yeah, I'm alright. 'S just… that… _ngh_ …"

"What, what is it?" William asks. Pleads, really. Their faces are far too close, bodies pressed up together on the tiny cot. A simple tilt of his head would bring their lips into contact, and that stray thought is almost more than Erasmus can take.

William's attention briefly darts down to his lips, his bared throat. And lower still before snapping back up to his eyes.

He should turn away, Erasmus thinks wildly. It was never his intention to lead the priest astray. Far from it, he can respect a man who holds to his convictions so strongly, even when those beliefs contradict the written scripture. And as much as he would _like_ to find out what those lips taste like, all the ways that body likes to be pleasured, he refuses to tempt William into something they will both later regret. It would have to be William who makes the first overture, if anything were to happen. Erasmus would need to know beyond a doubt that this was something William not only _desired_ but was willing to reach for with both hands and no misgivings, and he's just not sure if there will ever be a moment when…

The priest whimpers. Then he lunges and shoves Erasmus down to the bed, arms wrapped tight around his neck, lips pressed hard and sloppy against his own.

 _Oh_ , Erasmus thinks in a daze. _Well then._

And he clutches the priest to him and kisses back.

Several minutes of blissful rapture pass them by before Erasmus groans and wrenches his mouth free. "Just to be clear—"

"I'm in love with you," William gasps. He lets out a little nervous giggle. "At least I think that's what this is? I've never felt like this before, for _anyone_ , and I… Lord, I've had _dreams_ about this!"

Erasmus can't resist a lascivious grin at that. "Oh good, me too," he says and steals another kiss. "Haven't thought of anyone else since the moment I laid eyes on you."

"But you never said…?"

"Yeah, well. Neither did you. How exactly do you tell a priest you want to lay him down on the forest floor and do all manner of sinful and tender things to him?"

"Oh?" William says sweetly, thumb stroking along his jawline. "And what sorts of _sinful and tender_ things might these be? Would you tell me?"

"Bloody _show_ you," Erasmus hisses and jerks the priest down so that he's the one pinned this time. William goes laughing, a beaming smile on his face that holds just enough of a wicked edge to keep things interesting.

Downstairs in the main room of the inn, ten candles flare a little brighter before they all blow out at once. Outside in the main square of the village, a witch pauses and glances in the direction of the inn. A single light source flickers in one of the upstairs windows, and as she stands there watching, the ragged curtains seem to draw themselves shut.

Julia smiles and goes about her business. She is no oracle or prophetess, but she suspects her friends might be otherwise engaged for the foreseeable future.

And in her _humble_ opinion, it was about time.


End file.
